


I Wanna Write a Simple Song That's So Frequently Sung

by mr_bonez



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Family, Gen, Guitars, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Insane Wilbur Soot, Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Post-War, Sad TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Short & Sweet, Singing, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27595700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mr_bonez/pseuds/mr_bonez
Summary: In the aftermath of Wilbur's attack on Manberg, Tommy sits alone in a bunker with only a guitar and the sound of war beyond the walls.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Kudos: 178





	I Wanna Write a Simple Song That's So Frequently Sung

His hands hesitate over the strings of the guitar, like a barrier stands in his way to leave the thing untouched. His hands shake as a finger curls around one of the strings, bringing it upwards and then letting it drop loose with a pleasant _twang!_ sound. The melody pleases him, and so he draws his fingers over the rest of the strings, pausing to let the sound ring out before plucking the next.

It feels wrong. To touch Wilbur's guitar without his supervision? To play a tune with no one around to hear? To strum a melody in the wreckage of the world? He isn't sure, but the pads of his fingers feel dirty against the twine, and so he sets the instrument down. Then, it falls silent again. Nothing to fill his ears, but the crackling of fire beyond the walls of his bunker. Its worse without the guitar, and he takes it into his arms again.

Tommy knows next to nothing about guitars, strumming mindlessly as the chords come to him through trial and error. He knows the melody, just not how to play it. Slowly but surely, he works out the kinks and time has passed significantly. His breath catches on the lump in his throat as he plays the first note.

His voice cracks when he opens his mouth to sing the accompanying lyrics.

“W—Well,” He shakes his head and starts again. From the beginning. ”Well, I've heard there was a special place...” 

He thinks about their old home, back before everything had went to ruins. How he'd always had a warm bed and happy friends. The threat of Dream was a distance away within their walls and he took for granted all that he had, starting arguments and making enemies without thought of the consequences. A dusty corner of his mindscape whispered out that maybe, just maybe if he'd been like Fundy or Niki or Tubbo or anyone who resided within their walls and maintained peace, things wouldn't have turned out like this.

“Where men could go and emancipate,” he barely remembers the words, it's been so long, but they come to him as he sings. “T—The brutality and the ty—tyranny of their rulers.” He grows louder without thinking. 

Tyranny. The word brought memories he wanted to bury right to the surface, barreling past every wall and obstacle he'd set in place to keep them in their little unopened box. The tears come before he can think to stop them and his words quiver, but they grow in strength. 

“Well, this place is real, we needn't fret.” He hiccups. ”With Wil—Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret.“

Real? Was L'Manberg _ever_ real? It felt like a distant dream, just barely out of his reach when he begged for it to come back. Slipping from his grip until he had no chance to reach it anymore. He wondered if it was worth it. The pain and the suffering to form their little nation and the absolute horror that came from trying to take it back. He wondered if it would've been a better idea to suck it up and take Dream's torment. The thought gave him pause and made his words slip just slightly behind the tune. Barely out of place.

They reminded him of Wilbur.

”It's a very big and not—“

He stops, guitar strumming ceasing. His voice dips into a whisper, dropping the instrument with a clang on the ground and pulling his knees up to his chest. ”Not blown-up L'Manberg... _My L'Manberg... My L'Manberg... My L'Manberg... My,_ ” his voice breaks at the final word, but he gets it out. ” _L'Manberg_.” He crumples into himself, the sound of the world outside his little safespace loud beyond the walls. Fire. Screaming. Wilbur. His mind wandered out of his control.

L'Manberg. 

Were they doomed to fail?


End file.
